


Counting Down

by xspica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlock AU, prompt, timer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xspica/pseuds/xspica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly ran her finger gently over the timer on her wrist absentmindedly, feeling the light bump and cool sensation of the timer. She hated it. She truly did, because it served no purpose but to make her feel more miserable as time passes.</p><p>She hated how everyone fussed over their timers, talked about how they had met their soul mate, but more than anything, she hated it when everyone asked to see hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Waiting is the Worst Part](https://archiveofourown.org/works/581262) by [loyalnerdwp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/pseuds/loyalnerdwp). 



> This was based on the movie 'Timer' 's description where it's basically people having a timer that counted down to the moments of meeting one's soul mate. I didn't watch the movie so I am just going to work on this based on the description “If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”
> 
> Hee. I hope everyone would enjoy it. This would be a mollcroft story okay ~
> 
> Yay.
> 
> Ps. The rating is M because in the later chapters, there would be graphic description of violence. Erm, perhaps no smut because I don't write good smut.

__

_“_ _If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”_

* * *

 

Molly ran her finger gently over the timer on her wrist absentmindedly, feeling the light bump and cool sensation of the timer. She hated it. She truly did, because it served no purpose but to make her feel more miserable as time passes.

She hated how everyone fussed over their timers, talked about how they had met their soul mate, but more than anything, she hated it when everyone asked to see hers.

“Come on, Molly ! Don’t be shy! We just want to take a look at your timer!” Her friends crowded around her, jostling her, all wanting to take a look at the timer that was hidden beneath the sleeves of her jumper.

“It’s really nothing to look at, it’s just a timer like everyone else’s, you guys don’t have to be so curious about it.” Molly forced a smile, her voice strained and her distress was clear as day. She wrapped her hand around her wrist firmly and tried to escape the friends that had encircled her.

“Oh come on!” Meena huffed, her hands on her hip, a little infuriated by Molly’s reaction. Why did she have to be so difficult? She grabbed Molly’s wrist and Molly struggled, trying futilely to pull her hand out from Meena’s grip.

Molly’s heart plunged when Meena forcefully pried away the hand that covered the timer and tugged the sleeve down. Everyone froze on the spot when they saw the timer, finally understanding Molly’s reluctance to show it at all. The silence that followed was unnerving and painfully loud, with everyone feeling uneasy as they saw Molly's pale face.

“Are you happy now?” Molly bit her lips hard, as her eyes watered but her gaze was hard, intense and unnerving. She wrenched her hand out from Meena grip, pulling down her sleeve forcefully to cover the offending timer.

“Molly…” Meena’s voice was soft and apologetic, she fidgeted a little. Her voice was hesitant and her expression was unnatural and tense. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you know.” Molly said with her voice quivering as she fought back her tears and grabbed the medical books from the desk fiercely, running away from the room that was too silent.

“Shit.” Meena mumbled under her breath as she rubbed her hand over her face. She hadn’t expect the sight. She thought that Molly was just being shy to show everyone that she had met her soul mate, or that it would perhaps be 30 years before she met her soul mate, or she didn’t have a timer. She had thought of all the possible scenarios that could make Molly responded the way she did, but Meena hadn’t expected the sight that greeted her.

Molly’s timer was lined with cracks, the glass had shattered but still holding together. The timer was a blank. It was not unheard of to have a blank timer, it could mean that the soul mate hasn’t been born or the soul mate died. But no one had ever seen a broken timer or a shattered timer. The timer was meant to withstand the most brutal beatings and crashes, and that was why the state of Molly’s timer shocked everyone.

Meena wished that she hadn’t acted the way she did because she had done the worst thing that she could have ever done to her best friend – to strip Molly of her defences and bare her wound for everyone to see, a secret she had desperately tried to keep.

And it was this one particular incident that made Molly decides to be a pathologist. Better to deal with dead people than live ones, because then, they wouldn’t pester her to show them her timer.

Molly thought that the morgue would give her the peace of mind she needed, but it appears that she was wrong.

Many a time, Molly found her eyes lingering on the wrist of the deceased for longer than they should. She won’t acknowledge the pang of disappointment, the feelings of despair that flooded her whenever her eyes fell on their timer.

She would think of the soul mate that they’ve left behind, or if they were young, the soul mate that they never got to meet. And she would proceed to feel sorry for herself when she thought of her own timer that never counted.

It’s not the only thing that matters to her, but it matters a lot to her.

Molly sighs as she covered the body with the white cloth, filling in the paper work as she entered her office. She looked up from the papers and jumped slightly as she saw a lean, dark curly haired stranger sitting on the stool, looking into the microscope.

Molly frowned. “Who are you?” She asked, her voice a little unsteady and cautious.

He looked up from the microscope and narrowed his eyes. She could feel his gaze sizing her up.  He frowned a little before speaking in a deep voice. “My name is Sherlock Holmes and I want to borrow your lab.”

“What?” Molly was a little surprised by his words, who does he think he is to just walk into her office and demand something this unreasonable. She took a deep breath and tried to speak in her most serious tone, “Look, I don’t care who you are but this area is out of bounds to the public and I am in no position to allow you to use the lab. I want you to leave the lab **now** ,” Molly emphasized on the word ‘now’, pausing slightly before continuing, “or I will call the security.”

Molly clenched her fist in both nervousness and anger as she kept her gaze steady on the stranger.

He didn’t say anything but merely looked up at her with raised eyebrows, his lip quirked up in a mocking manner as he looked at her slowly from top to toe. “Very well, Dr. Hooper.” He said nonchalantly as he leapt up from his seat and grabbed his coat which was hanging by the door.

He was almost out of the door when he backtracked. “We will be seeing each other very soon.”  He smirked as he winked at her. Before she could even register what happened, he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving a flabbergasted Molly standing in her office wondering what the hell had happened.

“I need a drink,” Molly mumbled as she went back to work, her brain whirring from the sudden appearance and atrocity of the stranger. But she had a job to do and she clearly didn’t have the energy to worry about the good looking stranger when she had more autopsies to perform

It was well out of her mind, until the evening arrived and with it, a written document was delivered to her desk, on it, an approved request for a man named Sherlock Holmes to use the lab when he wishes. Molly looked at the document with her jaw tight, her eyes lingering on the signatures that made this document official.

With the weight of the paper in her hands, she finally understood what he had meant when he said that they would be meeting very soon.

There was a reason why she worked in the morgue and now, it appears that she would have no more peace in this relaxing place.

Molly sighed as she chucked the papers aside and sat in her chair with her head in her hands. “I desperately need a drink now.” She groaned to herself.

Molly would never know that knowing Sherlock Holmes would be the greatest nightmare of her life and … the key to unlocking the mysteries of her broken timer.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t care how you did this,” She said as she flung the documents down onto the table, scattering into a mess. “But this,” she pointed at the ground forcefully and emphasized her words with equal force, “is my lab. So I would very much appreciate it if you would keep to the rules and not a mess of my place. Do you understand?”
> 
> Sherlock made no effort to reply her and Molly frowned. “Are you even listening to me?” Molly was close to yelling by now.

“Look,” Molly said, trying to put on her most serious voice so that Sherlock would actually even bother about what she had to say. But the man’s attention remained steadfastly on the experiment before him. She huffed in exasperation but continued on talking anyway.

“I don’t care how you did this,” She said as she flung the documents down onto the table, scattering into a mess. “But **this** ,” she pointed at the ground forcefully and emphasized her words with equal force, “is _my_ lab. So I would very much appreciate it if you would keep to the rules and not a mess of my place. Do you understand?”

Sherlock made no effort to reply her and Molly frowned. “Are you _even_ listening to me?” Molly was close to yelling by now.

Then, Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at her. “Dr. Hooper,” He looked up from the experiment and stared at her with a stony expression, one that made her nervous somehow and she couldn’t help but wrap her hands protectively over her wrist. She saw that his gaze flickered a little over to her wrist. “I don’t appreciate being interrupted when I am working.”

Molly felt her anger flared in a moment, all the nervousness gone and was ready to lash out at him when he continued.

“I don’t care about any timer or not, so you can be rest assured that I have no interest in looking at yours. That is only something teenage girls or old, concerned parents and relatives are interested in.” He rolled his eyes a little.

Molly was just surprised and lost for words.

“How.. how … did you know?” She stammered a little and she blushed a little.

Sherlock turned towards Molly and rolled his eyes, “People see but do not observe. You are always wearing clothes with long sleeves and your hand would always wrap around your wrist when you are startled, feeling threatened or uneasy. It is not more than a defense mechanism and way to calm yourself down, from the way you wrap your fingers around your wrist, it’s more of protecting unwanted attention than anything else. You are always tugging at your sleeves, checking that it doesn’t expose your wrist, and when you are wearing something that doesn’t cover your wrist, you would wear something over it. It’s hardly difficult to deduce that you don’t want anyone to talk about or look at your timer.”

Sherlock finished with a smirk and a raised eyebrow as he looked at Molly who was gaping.

“Wait, you have only met me twice, including today.” Molly frowned when she realized that.

“I do not just saunter into a lab and declare that I would be using it,” at this, Molly raised her eyebrows at him, a little amused because that’s what he did. Sherlock rolled his eyes again; talking to Molly Hooper seems to involve a lot of eye-rolling.

 “Of course I don’t do that,” Sherlock snorted. “I have to observe secretly and see which pathologist would be the most competent and willing to work with me-”

“You mean the easiest to manipulate?” Molly interrupted.

Sherlock ignored the comment, “I had some time to observe you but of course, I don’t even need that long. You are so _obvious._ ”

Molly stared at him, a little horrified. So he had been spying on her for who knows how long, is it really fine for someone like him to use the lab?

Sherlock could see the clockworks of her mind spinning and whirring so frantically that he had to sigh. He just simply rolled up his sleeves and put both of his arms out in front of her. “Now, will you just stop thinking and look?”

Molly looked down and was a little taken aback.

His wrists were smooth and there wasn’t a timer on either of them. She looked up at him in surprise and shock.

Sherlock frowned, “Is it really that surprising? 1 in 100,000 are born without one."

“Is it….” Molly pointed to his wrist, “your form of peace offering?” She was a little amused with his antics.

“Hardly,” He said as he rolled down his sleeves, “Just to assure you that I have no interest in your timer and would appreciate if you don’t say anything about mine either.”

Molly stared at him as he worked, her fingers gently ghosting over the ugly lines.

She could tell that his childhood was probably as difficult as hers with people curious about his timer, jostling and wanting him to show his timer etc. But he had probably learnt to cope with that since he had so readily showed what one would consider a defect to her.

She rolled up the sleeve on her right arm and walked over to him.

“Don’t ask anything, I don’t know.”

Sherlock was looking into the microscope when he heard the words and he was bewildered. But he understood immediately when he saw that she had extended her arm in front of him and on her wrist was a cracked timer that didn’t count.

He could almost the smirk tugging at his lips but he fought to keep it down. _Mycroft._

This was certainly news he could keep to himself to annoy Mycroft.

Molly was uneasy and nervous about this. She had never voluntarily showed this _defect_ of hers to anyone and to show it to someone she had only met twice was more than just a leap of faith.

She bit her lips as she waited.

Sherlock just gave her a wave of his hand and turned back to his work. “Thank you for showing me, but I already said I have no interest in timers even if they are interesting like yours.” He replied, looking a little smug and a little pleased at who knows what.

Molly frowned but was relieved at the same time. She rolled down her sleeves and went back to work as well. She thought about his reaction for a moment before turning to him, “You aren’t hiding anything or plotting anything, are you?” She asked, suspicion in her voice. 

“The murderer is the husband!” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed and before she got an answer to her question, Sherlock was already out of the door with a phone to his ear, spewing out deductions one after another to the other person on the phone.

Molly sighed.

And that was only the beginning of what was to come and the beginning of a very long partnership with an unbelievable git.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I am making sense. Maybe I really need a beta. 
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment so I know what to write next !


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Molly met Mycroft was many years after working with Sherlock and that was the first time she knew about the existence of Sherlock’s brother. Molly had to admit that they didn’t exactly meet under the best situation. Unless one considers spending Christmas in a morgue the best way to celebrate the holiday.

The first time Molly met Mycroft was many years after working with Sherlock and that was the first time she knew about the existence of Sherlock’s brother. Molly had to admit that they didn’t exactly meet under the best situation. Unless one considers spending Christmas in a morgue the best way to celebrate the holiday.

 

* * *

 

“I need you at the morgue, there’s a body coming in. –SH”

Molly frowned, this was not how Molly envisioned herself to wake up on Christmas morning. Her fingers were rapidly tapping on her phone’s screen as she replied to his ridiculous request.

“No, Sherlock. It’s Christmas - Molly”

Barely seconds after her message got through, her phone vibrated furiously in her hand. Molly groaned in frustration, her head tilted backwards as she answered the phone, putting it to her ears.

“No, Sherlock. I already told you, it’s Christmas. You may not feel the need to immerse yourself in the festive mood but I would _appreciate_ it if you would let _me_ enjoy the day.” Molly said in a tired voice, the back of her hand against her forehead. She had a feeling that it would just be a futile struggle. After all, she had already known him for years, she knows what would come next.

“Molly !” Sherlock protested, sounding like a petulant child. “Christmas is just a time where people gather together and say hullo to each other, _how wonderful_.” Sherlock snorted, his voice disdainful. “Why would anyone enjoy it with all the false politeness and tiresome pleasantries-”

“Sherlock !” Molly shouted into the phone, a little louder than she had intended. Sherlock stopped his rambling and for once, an awkward silence settled.

Molly sighed inwardly.

“I will be there. What time do you need me to be there?”

When it comes to Sherlock Holmes, Molly can do nothing but agree to his wishes. To reject his requests would simply be too tiring and sometimes, or rather, _most of the time_ , be much more painful than it should have been.

“Good, you should have just agreed in the first place. I’ll see you in an hour, you will thank me.” Molly swore she could hear the smirk in his voice and before she could reply him, the line went dead.

“Sherlock?” She said, but only the recurring sounds of a dead line answered her.

Molly sighed as she buried her face in her duvets. “I hate him.” She groaned. “And what did he mean that I would thank him?” She wondered out loud.

Molly hopes that it would not be anything … weird. If there’s anything that she is very sure of, it is that Sherlock Holmes has totally no sense of what is appropriate or not. Apparently he had thought that shaving Toby was a great idea because it would help to keep the summer heat away and he would have new materials to experiment with. Obviously, the cat was greatly traumatized and wants to be nowhere near Sherlock after that. Another incident was when Sherlock had actually bought her coffee, _spiked coffee_ , and he thought that it would be appropriate for his experiment.

Now, Molly dare not drink or eat anything that comes from the hands of Sherlock Holmes because of that incident which was greatly embarrassing, considering how she had acted while she was drunk. This was something she had not forgiven him for, although it was lucky that she worked in the morgue and there wasn’t much people around that day.

Molly figured that there’s no point in wasting time to figure out what he meant by she would thank him so she leapt out of bed and changed her clothes, preparing to leave for the hospital.

“Bye Toby,” She said as she filled the food bowl, gently petting his head. Toby mewed back at her and she smiled, “Got to go, Sherlock’s waiting.”

She closed the door and was on her way to St. Bart’s. Molly kept imagining what sort of surprise, _or horror_ , was waiting for her beyond the morgue doors. But what was beyond the door was different, very much different from her imagination.

The figure standing by the body was clad in an expensive suit, dressed impeccably with a black umbrella hanging on his arm, his back straight and he had an imposing aura. He gave a curt nod of his head as his eyes landed on her. Molly felt this slight burning sensation on her wrist when her eyes met his. It was uncomfortable and tingling. She rubbed at it, hoping to ease the pain, as she nodded back at him with a polite smile on her face.

She looked around the morgue, trying to find Sherlock.

“He asked me to come in his place.”

Molly was a little startled when she heard the stranger’s voice, it was flat and void of any emotions. She glanced back at him, “Sorry?”

“Sherlock had insisted that I collect the body myself since it’s important to my work and that it’s Christmas so I shouldn’t bother him with such … _trivialities._ ” He smiled falsely at her, “But we all know how Sherlock truly feels about Christmas, isn’t that right? Dr. Hooper.”

Molly clenched her teeth tightly as she smiled back at him, her face tense.

Molly was mentally stabbing Sherlock and conjuring up different types of torture method already. Was this his idea of surprise? Did he think that she would be thankful if he had tried to match make her with some stranger?

“Look,” Molly breathed in deeply, “I don’t know who you are and without Sherlock here, I will not release the body to you.” The stranger looked surprised and raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.

“Sherlock had not informed me that he would not be here in person and therefore, I am sorry but I will not release this body to you unless he is present.” Molly repeated herself, a little forcefully this time.

The stranger simply nodded, “Very well.” He turned around and when he was at the door, he suddenly stopped, slowly turning towards Molly. “I believe that I had not introduce myself. I am Mycroft Holmes and it has been a pleasure meeting you.” With that, he was out of the door and Molly was rapidly blinking her eyes, her mouth agape.

“Mycroft _Holmes_?” Her eyes widen in shock. She didn’t know that Sherlock had a brother. She frantically dialed Sherlock’s number and when he picked it up, Molly did not give him a chance to talk.

“Sherlock Holmes. What exactly is the meaning of this?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been slow because I am in one of those "I don't feel like writing anything" mood and because I am a little tired.  
> There are many fanfic ideas that I am dying to start on but I would complete this first ! I have no idea how this would be though...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly took out her phone and when she read the message Sherlock had sent her hours ago, she froze.
> 
> I don’t do pointless things, Molly. I have enough evidence to think that you are my brother’s soulmate –SH.

Sherlock was silent as Molly spoke in an accusatory tone. She certainly didn’t expect that. She thought that Sherlock would huff in exasperation or offer her an explanation for his juvenile behavior. But no, Sherlock was silent and had not bother to defend himself, which is a surprise. 

Molly breathed in deeply, her fingers tightening around her phone, greatly annoyed by the turn of events. “Sherlock Holmes!” She was practically shouting at him now, “what _exactly_ are you planning?! I am in no mood to be pranked by you on freaking Christmas morning and neither am I going to just take all the crap that you throw at me all the time! I am sick of all these, Sherlock ! It’s becoming tiresome! Bothersome!”

Molly shouted with all the anger that she had kept inside her, the fury coursing through her veins, and she felt a little light-headed with all the rage. She was gesticulating wildly as she spoke, even though she knew Sherlock couldn’t see them.

She heaved heavily as she finished shouting and screaming at him, finally calming down as the anger leave her, but Sherlock’s words that followed her outburst reignited the anger in her and Molly could feel her blood boiling. Quite sure that her blood pressure is skyrocketing now. 

“Oh, Molly, I didn’t realized you called. Must have accidentally answered your call.” His nonchalant, perky voice and words were pushing Molly over her limits. There was just so much she could take before she explodes.

She clenched her teeth, her jaws tense. 

“Sherlock Holmes," She begun slowly, deliberately, "if you think trying to matchmake me with your brother, whom you have _kindly_  forgot to mention in our years of acquaintance, is your idea of fun, _please_ just leave me alone. I no longer wish to associate with you. Your antics are driving me crazy and I beg you, _please_ just leave me alone and let me keep my sanity. _Thank you._ ”

Molly said as sarcastically as she is capable of and Sherlock simply just huffed indignantly, "Molly," He chided,“I thought you would have been more clever. You truly don’t see , do you?”

Molly laughed, angrily, “So now it’s me who has been stupid, so now it’s me who is blind! Very well, Sherlock Holmes. Very well. VERY WELL!” She shouted, and without a second thought, Molly hung up the phone, fuming.

_How dare he tell me that I am dumb when it’s him who's at fault, how dare him !_

Molly fumed as she angrily removed her lab coat and grabbed her stuff before leaving St. Bart’s. She could have happily spent her holidays away from the evil clutches of a demanding git but yet, she was dragged out of the warmth of her home to the hospital where he clearly had no intention of turning up. Her phone vibrated furiously in her pocket, and Molly sighed, pulling it out. 

It was a message from Sherlock.

Molly bit her lips.

It obviously wouldn’t be an apology, she knows that Sherlock Holmes apologize to no one and that pigs would fly before he would ever say that he is sorry. If it was going to be another rude demand for something, Molly is not sure if she can hold the anger within her. In the end, Molly simply tucked the phone back into her pocket and ignore it completely.

Out of sight, out of mind, if she don’t bother about it, she would very soon forget about it.

At least that’s what she planned, until the torrent of messages from a pesky Sherlock Holmes irritated her so much that she had no choice but to take a look at the messages he sent. Sherlock Holmes can be very relentless, she found. 

_Must you be so juvenile as to hang up on me? –SH_

Molly frowned, _who was the one who was being juvenile ? Things would have been fine had he not been an annoying git and dragged her out into the cold instead of allowing her to stay at home and watch her Dr Who._

_Do you really not notice anything when you saw my brother? –SH_

Molly frowned, she had no idea what she was supposed to notice. Not everyone’s a genius like Sherlock Holmes.

_Molly, I thought that you are bright but you are really as oblivious as John. –SH_

Molly rolled her eyes, wondering if she should take it personally that he just insulted both John and her. Sherlock can be really tactless and impatient when it comes to such things.

_Are you really not going to talk to me? –SH_

_Don’t be difficult, Molly ! –SH_

_Do you not see anything that is out of the norm ? –SH_

Molly tapped furiously at her phone when she saw this message, this man is unbelievable!

_Sherlock Holmes, if you do realize, I have never met him, how am I supposed to know what is considered ‘out of the norm’ when I don’t know what is the norm?! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE'S YOUR BROTHER. –Molly_

_Oh, so you have decided to be mature and talk to me. –SH_

_And I would appreciate it if you would just leave me alone. –Molly_

Molly waited for a reply but minutes passed and Sherlock had not replied. _Maybe he would finally listen to me and leave me alone,_ Molly thought. She was just about to set her phone aside when his reply finally came.

_I believe that you should have noticed something out of the norm. – SH_

_I told you, I don’t know what is the norm, Sherlock! And why does it even matter what’s out of the norm? I refuse to be your experiment or your guinea pig, Sherlock! There’s got to be a limit for your pranks and jokes! – Molly_

Molly angrily typed in her reply, furious at the whole exchange. She doesn’t matter. That’s why he thinks that he could just trample all over her. She doesn’t matter, so he thinks that he could just pull a prank on her just like that, without a concern about how she is feeling. 

She doesn’t matter.

That’s why the universe left her with a broken timer.

Molly’s frustration, indignation and anger had brewed over the years, and they are finally pushing her over the limit.

Molly squatted down in the middle of the road, her head tucked and hidden in the space between her knees and chest, with tears rolling down her cheeks. It’s embarrassing to start breaking down in public, but Molly could not give a damn anymore. 

Dealing with Sherlock Holmes was never easy, but it had never been so difficult. Maybe it’s the loneliness that’s speaking, maybe it’s the thought that she would never have someone that’s making her upset. She thought that she had gotten over the fact that there would be no one for her, but the truth is, Molly Hooper is a splendid actress, capable of putting up a perfect façade and pretend that it doesn’t matter. 

She had even managed to lie to herself, when the truth is that, she was never over the fact that her timer was broken. 

But on this day, this entire thing with Sherlock had forced her to be true to herself. 

She was bitter, indignant and … disheartened. Molly felt that it was unfair that everyone had a soulmate except her. She was tired of having to congratulate her friends when they finally meet _the one_ , she was tired of pity from others and their awkward silence when they realize the truth, she was … tired. 

Her phone vibrated, but she wasn’t in the mood to look at it and fight with Sherlock any longer. She just kept sobbing without a care.

The snow kept falling.

And then it didn’t.

After moments of mindless sobbing with probably a lot of snot involved, Molly finally dried her tears and when she lifted her head, she yelped in surprise, falling down onto the ground as her eyes widened in shock. The same imposing man who called himself Mycroft Holmes stood there, with an umbrella over their head. He stared at her with his expressionless face as he offered her his hand.

Molly stared at it, hesitant.

He extended his hand a little more, his eyebrows raised. Not a word was exchanged but she could see his impatience. Molly hurriedly grabbed his hand and he pulled her up from the ground. He watched her fumbled a little as she got on her feet.

“I apologize for my brother’s folly and inability to act like an adult.” He apologized, though he didn’t sound apologetic as all. His voice was as cold as the air around them and Molly just dust off the snow on her clothes with her hand. Molly reckoned that this would be the closest to an apology from Sherlock that she could have. 

“It’s … okay. I should have known.” She sighed, laughing a little bitterly. 

She glanced up at him, smiling slightly, though her smile was a tired one, “Thank you.”

He simply nodded, a fake smile hung on his lips and Molly frowned.

“You don’t have to smile at me if you don’t want to. You know, I would prefer looking at your expressionless face that looked menacing and as if the whole world owes you money rather than a fake smile.” Mycroft looked at her in surprise, his mouth slightly agape and his eyebrows raised. He hadn’t expected that from her.

 It took Molly a while before she finally registered what she had said, her face became a faint pink as she realized what had just happened. She was wondering if she should apologize for her brazen self when Mycroft simply smiled, small genuine smile tugging at his lips, “You are full of surprises, Dr. Hooper.”

Molly was embarrassed when she heard his words. She scratched the tip of her nose as she looked at him. She giggled nervously as her gaze flickered from one spot to another, unsure of what to say.

That was when her gaze landed on his wrist and she stared for longer than she should. 

As he helped her up, his sleeves slightly slid up and she could see an angry, red scar peeking out from beneath the sleeves, just a little glimpse. Mycroft caught her gaze and had silently pulled his sleeve down, hiding the mysterious scar. 

When Molly looked up at his face, his smile was gone and in place, was his icy face.

“I’ll send you home.” 

He threw those icy words at her and turned on his heels without further words, leaving her to follow behind. Molly was taken aback at the sudden change of his mood. He was still smiling warmly at her a moment ago and yet, once he realized that she was staring at his wrist, he had completely changed into a different person. 

Then she recalled about the time Sherlock told her about his timer and remembered the angry red scar on Mycroft's wrist. 

She didn't actually manage to see anything beyond that, but Molly guess that it’s probably something similar to Sherlock’s experience. She could understand why he would feel offended when he caught her staring and it made Molly slightly uneasy to know that she had caused another person's distress.

She wordlessly got into his car and the whole journey back home was spent in silence. The car was cruising through the streets and Mycroft Holmes had not looked at her or spoke to her and the entire situation made Molly uncomfortable. Her fingers were nervously interlaced with each other, her hands on her lap as she fidgeted in her seat.

“I-” Molly started.

She barely spoke a word when Mycroft turned to look at her with the annoying fake smile plastered on his face, his voice distant and cold as he spoke. “I do not like to engage in small talks, Dr. Hooper. ”

With that, he turned back to stare out of the window and Molly gave up trying. There was no use talking to a Holmes who do not wish to listen. 

It was a very quick journey and before she even realised, the car had already slowed to a stop outside her apartment. Molly had instantly hopped out of the car when it reached her apartment but before she could even thank him, the car had already sped off into the distance, leaving Molly staring at the speeding car, the unspoken thanks still stuck in her throat. Molly had no idea if she should be angry at being disregarded like that.

She tilted her head back as she sighed. It seemed like it would never be easy when it comes to dealing with the Holmes. 

Molly shook her head as she pulled out her phone, freezing on the spot when she read the message that Sherlock had sent her. 18 words, and it felt like the heaviest 18 words to ever exist. 

_I don’t do pointless things, Molly. I have enough evidence to think that you are my brother’s soulmate –SH._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter is satisfactory ! Your comments help me to persevere whether I feel like giving up or when I lose steam. :3 ! Thank you all for leaving kudos and comments, as well as subscribing to the story !


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly’s eyes went over the 18 words over and over again, the tears gradually blurring her vision. She dialed Sherlock’s number slowly, her thumb hovering over the call button for a moment before she found the strength in her to press it.
> 
> Two short rings and she heard the deep, baritone of Sherlock Holmes.

Molly’s eyes went over the 18 words over and over again, the tears gradually blurring her vision. She dialed Sherlock’s number slowly, her thumb hovering over the call button for a moment before she found the strength in her to press it.

Two short rings and she heard the deep, baritone of Sherlock Holmes.

“I suppose it’s about time you -”

“Tell me if it’s true.” Molly interrupted Sherlock’s incessant ramble and Sherlock was silent. The tears stung her eyes and Molly was silently praying that this is not one of Sherlock’s cruel jokes. She was hopeful, but skeptical, like one that was let down too many times to even dare to dream about it. It just … seems too good to be true. She sniffed and wiped off the tears with her sleeves as she waited for his reply.

“I believe it is true.” Sherlock spoke slowly, hesitantly and Molly felt that his voice was not quite right. He sounded like … he was hiding something from her.

She frowned. “Why do you think he is my soul mate?”

The silence set in again and seemed to drag on for eternity when Molly heard a little sigh. “Did you … see his wrist?”

Molly shook her head before realizing that Sherlock couldn’t see it. “No, I didn’t. But I did get a little glimpse when his sleeve slid up and revealed a scar across his wrist, but I didn’t get to see his timer.” Molly frowned as she recalled the cold expression on Mycroft’s face when he caught her staring at his wrist, “Why is this important?”

Sherlock sighed dramatically, his voice picking up speed again as he explained, “You really do not understand a thing at all, Molly. Of course this is every bit important! It’s the only thing that matters! If you had seen the timer, you would have understood it all in a second!” He paused slightly, “Or maybe not,” He added and Molly could clearly hear the smirk in his voice.

Molly huffed indignantly. “Contrary to what you think, I am not that oblivious, Sherlock!”

“Oh?” Sherlock’s tone was a curious tone, “Then tell me what do you think about this.”

“You are trying to tell me that your brother had a similar timer to mine, isn’t that it?” Molly raised her eyebrow, pride filling her voice. Then she realized something.

“Wait. If he had a similar timer to mine, that means that you would have known this for the past 5 years. Sherlock Holmes. DID YOU JUST KEEP THIS FACT FROM ME FOR THE LAST 5 YEARS ?!” Molly shouted into the phone, all manners forgotten, when the realization set in.

“In my defence-” Sherlock tried to defend himself, his voice defensive.

“Sherlock Holmes! You knew it all along ! YOU KNEW IT ALL ALONG ! You have seen me cry over my timer, seen me despairing over it and you hadn’t thought to tell me! You kept it a secret! You kept such an important thing from me! For five years ! And you only thought to tell me now? Why, Sherlock, what’s the difference now! Why tell me now when you had already known it for ages and obviously meant to keep it from me for as long as you could!” Molly raised her voice, her tears threatening to spill again. She held it back with as much force as possible.

She is not going to cry.

“Molly!” Sherlock shouted back at her, cutting her off. Silence filled the space for a moment before Sherlock spoke again. “I… did not mean to cause you this much distress, it was never my intention. I hid it from you and from my brother because I thought … it would annoy my brother. I don’t exactly have the best relationship with that fat-, I mean, brother of mine. It certainly did make me happy knowing that I knew something that he didn’t.”

“And now it didn’t?” Molly asked quietly.

There was a short silence before Sherlock spoke again.

“You matter, Molly. You are the only one, besides John, to tolerate me even when I am in the darkest mood. I always say things that hurt you even when I don’t mean to. But Molly, you forgave me time after time, even when I thought you would have simply left. I cause you so much woes, but no matter how irritated you get with me, you never did leave me. You see me, Molly, and you matter. Molly Hopper, you deserve happiness, even though I think that my brother don’t deserve you.”

Molly’s voice caught in her throat, she couldn’t find her voice as Sherlock softly, gently, spoke to her.

“You matter.” He repeated and Molly felt the warm tears gush out from her eyes like an unstoppable torrent.

Sherlock Holmes is an annoying git who clearly don’t understand human, but Molly knows, beneath that exterior, lays a gentle heart.

Molly sniffed, “What happened to his timer?”

Sherlock didn’t directly answer her but avoided her question.

“You will know when you get to know him.”

Molly frowned and tried to ask him a few questions about this entire thing, about his brother, but Sherlock kept mum about everything else, refusing to answer anymore of her questions and before she could react, he had ended the call, leaving her yelling after him as per usual.

Molly let out a resigned sigh, tucking her phone back into her pocket. She rolled up her sleeve, her finger gently running over it as she had did so many times before, sometimes crying. She never understood why her timer was like this and maybe, Mycroft Holmes is the answer to it.

She hopes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, thank you everybody for your kind comments ! 
> 
> And once again, I am sorry to say that I am only capable of writing an OOC Sherlock ! So just ... pretend that he is in character and all is well. A short chapter, because it just felt right to end it there and then. The next chapter would hopefully be longer. 
> 
> I will have to cry now. It might end in 2 chapters and I just hope when it ends, it won't be abrupt. I suck at writing endings, it appears. Anyway, I like to humanise all the characters and DENG DENG DENG, Mycroft might be the next victim ~~~~~~ 
> 
> HAHAHAHHAAHHAHA. Shit.
> 
> Please prepare yourself for more OOC Mycroft. Thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sherlock was an arrogant git, Mycroft was a larger one, just that unlike Sherlock who could not bother to hide his disdain, Mycroft hides his very well and behaves like a gentlemen, insulting one not through his words but the subtle changes of his facial expression and mannerisms.
> 
> Molly threw the purple latex gloves angrily, with all her strength, at his retreating figure, all her manners and anxiety abandoned.

Time flew and passed. Winter became Spring, and it was months after the Christmas revelation before she saw Mycroft again. Molly was a little nervous when the man stepped into her morgue, he was still as cold and distant as when she had last seen him.

Molly felt a slight tinge of disappointment that didn’t make sense. Of course, he would still be as cold and distant, they were barely strangers despite what Sherlock had thought and told her.

She also knew that Sherlock had no intention of directly, explicitly telling this fact to his brother. She sighed inwardly as she moved towards the table and pull down the sheet that covered the body.

He merely took a look at the body, nodded to himself and spun around on his heels, taking his leave almost immediately. Molly saw that his fingers was surreptitiously rubbing at his other wrist, his eyebrows creasing slightly into a frown that might have gone unnoticed had one not been observing.

It must have been the tingling and burn that Molly felt when she first met him.

“Wait!” Molly called out before she even knew what she was doing. Mycroft stopped in his tracks, body turning slightly to regard her. Molly wanted to say something but she didn’t know what to say because she hadn’t expect him to stop.

“Umm… this, I…” Molly stammered, her head bowed to the ground as she tried to form a coherent sentence. She was shuffling her feet in her anxiety and biting her nails a little more frantically.

In the end, she just sighed heavily, her face flushed. She drew in a deep breath, lifting her head and stared at Mycroft. “I.. just, wanted to say… that I’m sorry about…” She said slowly and hesitantly, gesturing to her wrist and Mycroft’s face remained blank throughout.

“You have nothing to apologise for and I don’t exactly care for your apologies either.” Mycroft replied in a haughty manner, the fake smile plastered on his face a sore sight for Molly.

Molly gaped, a little stunned at his hostile response, trying to figure out what to say when Mycroft bowed his head a little, staring at her in a condescending manner as he turned around and took his leave.

Molly was incensed at being treated like this.

If Sherlock was an arrogant git, Mycroft was a larger one, just that unlike Sherlock who could not bother to hide his disdain, Mycroft hides his very well and behaves like a gentlemen, insulting one not through his words but the subtle changes of his facial expression and mannerisms.

Molly threw the purple latex gloves angrily, with all her strength, at his retreating figure, all her manners and anxiety abandoned.

“It must be a mistake. It is impossible for him to be my soulmate.” Molly mumbled under her breath as she returned the body back into the freezer and got back to work. “Jerk,” She muttered as she texted Sherlock.

“Your brother is not my soulmate. You are mistaken -Molly”

“Molly, don’t be difficult. I have already explained everything to you, you know this is true. -SH”

“Your brother is a jerk. -Molly”

“You are not the first to say that and I am glad to have a comrade who shares my view, though it’s a little unfortunate that you are my brother’ soulmate -SH”

Molly pondered over his reply before hesitantly typing her next reply, hoping that this time round, he would answer the question.

“Tell me exactly what happened -Molly”

Sent.

The first few replies came fast and swift but the moment Molly asked Sherlock to tell her exactly what happened, it was not unexpected that he grew quiet as he had last Christmas. Molly sighed resignedly. She should have known that getting Sherlock to talk about it would probably be harder than grabbing meat out of a lion’s mouth. She expected that much.

But that meant that she had to hear it from Mycroft himself and judging by their past encounters … Molly doesn’t think that it’s even possible for them to talk amicably. If getting Sherlock to speak is akin to grabbing meat out of a lion’s mouth … getting Mycroft to speak about it would probably be worst.

It’s mission impossible. 

Molly set her phone aside, her eyes lingering over it for a moment before turning away to pick up the discarded purple gloves lying on the ground.

It will probably not be anytime soon before she meets Mycroft Holmes again.

That’s what she thought and apparently, Fate or Destiny, decided that their last meeting was less than satisfactory and therefore, made them meet in the least likely circumstances ever.

It was the usual rainy, dreary weather on that Saturday morning, but not the usual place she would meet Mycroft Holmes ( _the morgue_ ).

The smell of rain merged with the light, woody smell of the oak bookcases as Molly hurried into the shop, shutting the door behind her, the bell chiming as the door shut.

It has been a while since Molly had some time for herself, colleagues going on maternity leave, getting married, Sherlock being an ass as usual, and the list goes on and on. Using the word ‘crazy’ is an understatement. It’s more than just crazy, so Molly is glad that she is finally able to take a breather, have the time off for herself and relax in the comfort of books.

Molly gently ran her fingers along the row of books, gently caressing the spine as her eyes searched for the book that she was looking for. Molly smiled a little as her fingers danced from book to book. When she finally saw her book, her beam grew wider as she excitedly reached out for her book, just as a large, warm hand covered hers as her hand landed on the book.

Molly spun around in surprise, only to see the usually impeccably dressed Mycroft Holmes standing behind her, the expression on his face mirroring hers.

It took just a moment for him to rearrange his expression into the usual polite yet distant expression. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity and surprise when his gaze flickered towards their hands, both on the same book.

“ _What a surprise._ ” Mycroft said under his breath and Molly knew not whether it’s meant to be a compliment or a scathing comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. It would probably take longer than 2 chapters to finally get to Mycroft's timer story. 
> 
> I thank Wetislandinthenorthatlantic and kingaofthewood [MY FAV] for their valuable input into the story and helping me along with my writing. I am sorry that this took so long. I was trying to think of how they would meet, what they would say etc. And it seemed to me that revealing Mycroft's story right now just doesn't sit right so I postponed it. 
> 
> It might be quite a while later.
> 
> I thank everyone for your support, your beautiful comments and you guys are what keeps me going. Seeing the number of subscribers increase make me go OMG OMG OMG, is this real !? I am afraid to disappoint and I will do my best to not disappoint !


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly feels that it no longer make a difference if Mycroft Holmes is her soulmate or not. Even if he is, which Sherlock is extremely insistent upon, he doesn’t seem to believe in it or he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of a soulmate. He is Mycroft Holmes, he needs no one, doesn’t he?
> 
> If he doesn’t need her, then she suppose she won’t need him either. Just like how it had been and how it will always be.

“You are the surprising one, Mr Holmes.” Molly raised her eyebrows as her eyes flickered towards the book “Love & Misadventure”, a smile growing widely on her face. Mycroft frowned, abruptly removing his hand from hers. Molly didn’t miss the subtle scorn on his face as much as he tried to hide it.

“Didn’t think that you would enjoy poetry, much less _romantic poetry_ ,” Molly gestured towards the book with a tilt of her head. Mycroft sneered, “What do _you_ know?” He looked at her from head to toe, “You don’t seem like one to enjoy poetry either, I would have supposed that you would enjoy reading books like romance novels or other _silly_ novels.” Mycroft spoke the sentence with his usual sneering tone, spitting out the words one after another.

Somehow, he felt a little offended when Molly said that even though he knew that it was irrational and uncalled for. He just felt ... exposed, to have someone seen this more feeling side of him. If his subordinates had seen him with this book, they would have probably fell over since they didn't think he would read anything other than books on politics or on the arts of war. 

And obviously, Molly didn't appreciate it either. She clenched her jaw tightly, her fingers tightening around the book, “Well, Mr Holmes, you don’t seem like the kind who enjoys living either. Have a good day,” She spat out as she yanked the book off the shelves, storming off to make payment. Mycroft was taken aback by her reaction and her words. He might have just … been too much. He thought as he stared at her back, his fingers absentmindedly wrapping around the timer.

He sighed inaudibly as he turned away, strolling down the aisle, his black umbrella dangling at the crook of his arm.

If previously, he was just suspicious, this time round, he had confirmed his suspicion. Mycroft doesn’t know if this is something good or something bad. An old memory flickered briefly before him before he pushed it away.

He had no intention to repeat his mistake. He turned around slightly to see Molly Hooper at the cashier, cradling the book in her arms and looking at the book with a soft smile, as if it was a treasure. Now that the anger and annoyance had left her face, Mycroft had to admit that Molly Hooper … is beautiful in her own way.

But Molly Hooper is not his to keep and he has no intention to further their association beyond mere strangers.

He averted his gaze and exited the bookstore, the bell chiming after him.

Molly looked over her shoulder at the sound of the bell, wordlessly watching him leave. They say third time’s the charm but unfortunately, not in her case. She sighed. Is he _really_ her soulmate? She glanced at the timer that lies hidden beneath the warmth of her jumper.

She guess, maybe she should stop trying after all. Every time she tries to get closer to him, she is hurt by his coldness and harsh words. She refuses to let herself be belittled by him or let him trample all over her remaining pride and dignity.

Molly feels that it no longer make a difference if Mycroft Holmes is her soulmate or not. Even if he is, which Sherlock is extremely insistent upon, he doesn’t seem to believe in it or he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of a soulmate. He is Mycroft Holmes, he needs no one, doesn’t he?

If he doesn’t need her, then she suppose she won’t need him either. Just like how it had been and how it will always be.

 

* * *

 

Christmas came around faster than expected, months after the bitter encounter and months of silence coupled with a few attempts by Sherlock to bring them together to no avail. Molly was less than excited to be called out on Christmas night (by Sherlock, yet again) to the morgue but there wouldn’t be anyone else who would be around on Christmas.

She had arrived before them and when she spun around at the sounds of opening door, she stiffened slightly when she saw Mycroft strolling in after Sherlock. Molly clenched her jaw and offered a strained smile to the man before turning away.

Mycroft didn’t pay her any attention, just impatiently tapping his umbrella against the floor while speaking to Sherlock.

“The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.” He said with a wry smile on his face which Sherlock ignored.

Sherlock turned to Molly with a surprisingly apologetic expression, well, as close to an apologetic expression that Sherlock was capable of, “You didn’t need to come in, Molly.”

He clearly hadn’t forgotten the unnecessary matchmaking attempt last Christmas which turned out to be a huge mistake. Sherlock was no fool and it’s clear as day to anyone that there’s unresolved tension between Mycroft and Molly.

If he could, Sherlock wished that he hadn’t interfered with them at all, but it’s all too late.

Molly just gave him a forced smile, averting her gaze as she spoke.

“That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with … Christmas.” Molly shuffled awkwardly as she gestured to the body with her head, “The face is sort of bashed up, so it might be difficult”

She slowly pulled the sheet down and revealed the face. Sherlock took a step closer as he examined the body closely.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked in an aloof tone.

Sherlock pretended that he didn’t hear what Mycroft said, instead, he turned to Molly. “Show me the rest of her.” Mycroft frowned at being ignored yet again, though he knows that it’s just Sherlock being juvenile and sulking at the fact that he had upset Molly Hooper.

Molly took a brief glance at Mycroft, registering the frown and obvious unhappiness on his face and she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Sherlock tapped the table a little impatiently, forcing Molly to focus on the task at hand.

She grimaced slightly as she pulled off the sheets. She noticed that Sherlock had just taken a brief look along the body before turning around and headed for the door.

“That’s her.” That’s the only thing he said before he was out of the door. Molly was a little taken aback and she turned to look at Mycroft who was still in the room.

It was a little awkward with the silence hanging in the air, so Molly cleared her throat and asked, “Who is she? How did Sherlock recognize her from …not her face?”

 “Thank you, Dr Hooper.” Mycroft simply smiled politely at her, giving her a curt nod before leaving the morgue. He clearly had no intentions of answering her questions or deepening their association beyond mere acquaintances.

Molly stared after him and she leaned against the wall, with her shoulders slumped. She let out a long sigh, feeling defeated.  

Would she never know the story behind her broken timer and would she never know what kind of person her soulmate really is? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I had to think about how I wanted to write this and this fic is probably going to be long since I decided to write it this way. It's a challenge to write it and I thank Lu for being an awesome Beta, helping me to think through how I want to write the remaining chapters. I also thank everyone for their kind comments ! 
> 
> I hope the next chapter won't take such a long time ! 
> 
> About what Molly said to Mycroft, it's just how I feel that he is like ? At least for this fic. Mycroft's world is full of deceit, manipulation, power and lots of work. It's not really a life that can be considered living in my opinion. Of course, everyone live their lives differently. Molly doesn't really know what is his job, or anything about him. She only know that he never lets himself reveal his desires, his real self. He lives a life that's not his. He wears a mask all the time. And based on what she knows and feels or think she knows about him, she pities him to a certain extent. 
> 
> And as for Mycroft .... He is known to the world as the Ice Man but it doesn't meant that he doesn't have a heart. Just that, the heart is a vulnerable organ and to expose it to the world is akin to death. And for a proud man like Mycroft, he doesn't really want anyone to know that he is interested in that. 
> 
> It's kind of self-defense mechanism to snap at people who sees him and for someone who is supposed to be his Soulmate, Mycroft fears falling back into a human, to be reminded that he is a human. 
> 
> I hope this made sense ? Drop a comment and we can discuss this together. HAHAHA.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly wrapped her arms around him, offering the briefest of comfort she could provide, “I won’t let you die.” She said softly, her voice determined. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Sherlock has been uncharacteristically quiet. Molly looked up from her paperwork to look at the man sitting beside her, who was looking intently into the microscope. But somehow, Molly knew that he was deep in thoughts, somewhere else. She was worried.

Sherlock is a nightmare, a terror to deal with when he is verbal diarrhea-ing. [If there is a word for that state for his manically, machine gun speed deductions or insults but since there isn’t, Molly made up a word for it].

But he is even scarier when he is quiet because all the dangerous, eccentric thoughts are trapped in that thick skull of his with nowhere to go and it only takes time for him to carry out those thoughts. When his mind gets too loud, that’s when it’s the most worrisome.

Molly bit her lips as she contemplated if she should interrupt him.

Then he looked up from his microscope, his eyes fixed on John Watson who was in the morgue with him, typing up their case. He looked … sad, like a puppy that was being abandoned. That open look of vulnerability and sadness was something that Molly hadn’t expected.

John’s phone rang and Sherlock quickly looked back at his microscope, pretending that had not happened. John took out his phone and answered it in a quiet tone, his gaze was immediately on Sherlock. His slight look of disappointment didn’t go unnoticed by Molly. He stood up and left the morgue, presumably to answer the call elsewhere where he could talk in a normal voice.

The moment the morgue doors swung shut, Sherlock immediately straightened up again and stared at the door for a long while with that same look again.

Molly couldn’t help it.

“You look sad when you think he can’t see you.” She said quietly, worry apparent in her voice.

That snapped Sherlock out of his trance, he slowly moved his gaze onto her, mildly surprised. “What made you say that?”

Molly stared back at him, her brows creased. “You… behave a little like my dad when he was dying.” That made Sherlock raise his eyebrows in amusement, the corner of his lip quirked up a fraction and Molly rolled her eyes at him before continuing. “He was always cheerful, he was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. Just like what you did. You look sad when you think John can’t see you.” She paused, putting her hand on top of his, “Are you okay? Is there something …. I should know? And don’t tell me you are fine because I can tell you are not.”

Sherlock remained silent for a while and Molly knew that when she asked questions that he didn’t want to answer, he usually stay silent or throw some insults at her to make her go away. She sighed when she could tell that that’s no way he would tell her. Molly slowly drew her hand away.

“You see me.” He said suddenly, his eyes fixed on her, that little glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I don’t count.” Molly said, a little bitterly through her smile. Sherlock took a good, hard look at her, his expression softening. “You do count.” He said, softly, slowly, tenderly. He sounded normal and Molly knew that he was trying to put up a façade, that there’s nothing to worry about. But Molly saw that flash of anxiety, fear and worry on his face as he spoke and she knew that things were not as simple as he attempted to make it sound like.

It sounded like something or someone was coming for him and he knows it but he had no idea how to stop it. And she didn’t like the idea at all.

She swallowed.

“What do you need?”

Sherlock was taken aback at her question, shaken even.

“What.. What could I possibly need from you?” He asked slowly.

 “If there’s anything you need.” Molly reiterated, her tone stronger than the first. “I repeat myself once more, Sherlock, if there’s anything you need at all, anything. I will always help you.” She stared hard back at him and Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully before nodding and just at that moment, John walked back into the morgue, holding up his phone.

“Lestrade said that a fax came in moments ago stating that the children are dying and asked if you have any idea where the children could be.”

Sherlock stood up, straightened his suit before nodding, “Chocolate factory”, he said mildly as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. “We should go.”

Before he left, his gaze lingered on Molly’s face for a moment longer than intended before averting his gaze. John followed after him, as usual, and Molly knew that John was worried as well. That was very unlike Sherlock to be so calm and mild when he solve a clue or something.

Molly fear that whatever that’s haunting Sherlock is going to be more grievous than anything else he had encountered, or anything they had ever seen.

And she doesn’t know what it is or how to help.

 

* * *

 

Molly was walking out of the room and switching off the lights after a long, arduous day at work battling with paperwork and comforting the distressed families of the deceased as well as performing autopsies. She sighed loudly as she walked across the room, wishing that she could be home already.

Her hand was on the cool, metal handle when a deep voice whispered behind her. “I am not okay.”

Molly jumped, spinning around rapidly to face him, her back pressed to the door in shock. Sherlock was standing in the darkness, his eyes suspiciously red and his hair was wild, unruly curls all over the place. He slowly walked towards her, his footsteps heavy. “I am not okay.”

Molly straightened her back as she tore away from the door, something caught in her throat. He looked like a mess. “What do you need?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find his voice. He looked frightened, a look that seldom find its way onto his face. He struggled to find the words, to find the courage to say it, to admit it. He lowered his gaze, drawing in a deep breath before speaking in a cracked voice, “Molly, I think I am going to die.”

“What do you need?” She asked, taking a small step towards him, her eyes fixed on him. Her face was tense, as was her body. She hadn’t expected this at all.

This time, he looked up at her, his voice low and trembling, “If I wasn’t everything that you think I am,” he swallowed, his chest heaving as he tried to get his sentence out, “If I wasn’t everything that I think I am, would you still help me?”

He asked, tears welling up in his eyes as he stared at her.

Molly looked at him, he was broken, afraid, vulnerable and doubtful. But he was brave enough, _or scared enough,_ to ask for help.

“What do you need?” She asked as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

“You.” He said simply, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to die,” the tears finally fell. “I haven’t told John that I love him.” He hiccupped, the words breaking up as he said, “I don’t want to die, not like this.”

Molly wrapped her arms around him, offering the briefest of comfort she could provide, “I won’t let you die.” She said softly, her voice determined. “Tell me what I need to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am kind of following canon but I made my own tweaks to it ! :D ! So in this, Molly had never met Moriarty, everything that had happened in between are as it is in canon. So yeap. The ratings would go up higher in the next few chapters for violence and a lot of stuff would start unraveling. 
> 
> And there would be fluff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Hooper. Intrigues him.
> 
> And that alone is dangerous because caring is not an advantage and … sentiments are chemical defects found on the losing side.
> 
> And for Mycroft, any form of sentiment is not just dangerous.  
> It’s poison.

Obviously, Molly hadn’t expected that the request for her help also includes calling up a certain Holmes in the middle of the night.

The phone rang briefly before it was connected.

“Hello.” The cool voice on the other side of the phone spoke. Molly stayed silent as she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “I don’t have the time to waste on listening to silence.”

Molly felt her fingers twitched, the urge to punch him in the face was stronger than ever and it’s a pity that he is not in front of her right now. She cleared her throat, trying not to sound annoyed, “Sherlock asked me to contact you.” _As if I would have called you if I didn’t have to,_ she grumbled to herself. She was pretty sure that Mycroft know that as much.

“I figured as much. You wouldn’t be able to get my number otherwise.” Mycroft replied coolly and she could hear the smirk in his voice. It really irks her for him to belittle her. She took in a deep breath as she tried to push the anger down, to contain it.

Molly looked over to Sherlock, who had finally calmed down after breaking down. He was sitting between the lab tables, throwing the ball against the surface time after time, silent and brooding.

“He… is” Molly wanted to tell Mycroft that Sherlock isn’t exactly in a good shape. A silent Sherlock never bode well. But at that moment, Sherlock turned his head and stared at her sharply. The warning words wordlessly mouthed to her, ‘ _Don’t you dare tell him_ ’. Molly sighed inaudibly. Apparently, admitting that you need your brother’s help doesn’t mean he concede defeat and that he would bare his soul and all to his brother.

She looked away, continuing where she had left off, “He would need your help to plan something.” Molly sounded more tired than usual, Mycroft would tell and obviously, he could deduce that Sherlock was probably being difficult and warned her to not continue what she was initially planning to tell him.

He thought about it for a moment. Molly is truly someone very special. She put up with all the nonsense and insults Sherlock threw her way, even his own impolite and defensive behavior that had rubbed her the wrong way. It’s quite surprising that after so many bitter encounters that had gone in directions that he didn’t want to, Molly Hooper is still talking to him. Rather distantly, yes, and he didn’t forget her previous attempts to apologize or make peace when the right thing to do was probably to ignore him or be intimidated by him.

He thought she would have fled.

But she didn’t. She is still here.

“Mycroft?” She asked, she tried to sound normal but the concern in her voice betrayed it all. Molly didn’t exactly have a good impression of him but she still gets concerned when Mycroft suddenly goes all quiet like Sherlock.

Mycroft coughed slightly and tried to pretend he hadn’t drifted off while speaking to her.

“The car will be at the hospital in 10 minutes.” He informed with that crisp, cool voice of his. He didn’t say anything else and just allowed the silence to hang in the air. Molly frowned, “Are you still there?” She asked, a little hesitantly.

“Yes,” He replied instantaneously and allowed the silence to drag before saying, “Thank you”

He sounded a little softer than before though it’s hard to tell with that tone. Molly had wanted to tell him he’s welcome but she didn’t have the time to as he had already disconnected the call.

She looked at the phone in her hands weirdly. That went … surprisingly well, if one could ignore their starting conversation. Nevertheless, she tucked the phone away as she told Sherlock to get ready to leave the hospital.

Things might look up, for them both.

Meanwhile, Mycroft stared at his phone blankly. He hadn’t meant to thank her or for the conversation to be longer than expected. He had wanted to hang up the phone immediately after informing her that a car will pick them up. But he didn’t.

He doesn’t know why. Or maybe it’s because she showed genuine concern and he wanted to be closer, to be nearer, to understand more.

Mycroft rolled up his sleeves and exposed the timer on his wrist. To him, it was a sign of weakness, of vulnerability, of defeat. It’s very existence pains him, irks him and tortures him every waking moment. And then there’s her, who carries the same timer on her wrist.

Mycroft’s mind drifted to their limited encounters.

The first time they met, it was in the morgue on Christmas. He had received a call from Sherlock to get him down to the morgue. Mycroft had originally tasked Sherlock to help him with a case and help him identify a body as he absolutely detests legwork. Sherlock had initially agreed but changed his mind at the last minute, insisting that Mycroft should go and identify the body himself since it is so crucial to his work.

Mycroft was a little suspicious of Sherlock’s motive but he still did go down to the morgue in accordance to Sherlock’s wishes. Though he had to admit that he was curious as to why Sherlock had been so adamant in getting him to the morgue.

He was surprised when he saw Molly for the first time. At least in person. He did keep a close tab on the people Sherlock chooses to surround himself with. And … she was a whole lot more interesting than her dossier. He also had to admit that she was much more intelligent than the average goldfish.

Mycroft was a little surprised at her reaction towards him. She was fierce and clearly not one to be trampled on. She spoke her mind and stood unintimidated by him. It was … very refreshing to him. His clearly cold, impersonal composure is usually intimidating, but it didn’t seem to affect her, much. She remained professional and refused to be belittled. He could tell that much from her body language, the way she heaves as she spoke, hands clenching and unclenching as she held her ground.

If he really wanted to, he could have simply stuck around, ordered her to just let him go about his business and he would soon be out of the way. Mycroft usually found people’s inability to follow his orders irritating, but this time, he let it slide and he just exited the morgue as she wished.

He stuck around the hospital for a while, texting his brother _dear_ , which obviously was filled with insults concealed in every sentence of it if one knows how to read between the lines.

Mycroft settled back into his car and was about to ask the driver to drive off when he saw Molly Hooper exited the hospital. He stayed and watched her stopped suddenly in her tracks to pull a phone out, but not before sighing resignedly.

 _‘Ah, Sherlock, it must be.’_ Mycroft chuckled silently to himself. He knew how difficult it must be to work with Sherlock and Molly Hooper is a saint to have endured him for so long. He watched her expression changed from one of resigned sadness, to frustration, to anger and finally, he watched her broke down in the middle of the road.

Something came over him.

He exited the car, much to the surprise of his driver and he walked towards her, holding out his umbrella above her as she cried. He simply stood there wordlessly, staring ahead blankly. Mycroft knew Molly didn’t hear him approaching, but her reaction did startle him slightly though it also greatly amused him.

She yelped and fell onto the floor. He sighed to himself as he extended his arm towards her and pulled her up, not without a little hesitation on her part at first. And when she did voice out that she would rather him not smile and look scary instead of putting on a fake smile to patronize her, Mycroft couldn’t say that he is not pleased to hear that.

It gets tiring to put on a mask.

“You are full of surprises, Dr. Hooper.”

He heard himself say, his voice kinder than he was supposed to, the smile creeping up upon his face before he even realized it. She really was an enigma to him. She burns with fire in her yet she is still soft like water. She is strong like the ground beneath her but also fragile like glass.

Mycroft was indeed, happy to be acquainted with her, until he caught her staring at his wrist. It was the one thing, and the only thing, that really bothered him and made him self-conscious. He hid it as much as he possibly could but one can’t hide what’s already done.

Mycroft did not mean to snap at her or be rude to her, but that lingering feeling of shame and irrational irritation did nothing to help him be nice to her.

That was one disastrous Christmas he never wants to remember again.

As Mycroft thought about it, he made a mental note to delete this memory later on. There is no room in his mind for such unpleasantness.

The second time they met, it was once again in the morgue.

Mycroft deliberately ignored her, which was rude, and mentally catalogued all the information he needed. Mycroft tried to leave as fast as he can. He could tell that she was disappointed by the lack of acknowledgement from him.

But right then, Mycroft only wanted to run away and once again, he did not know why he felt the urge to escape.

“Wait!” He heard her shout behind him and, he just stopped in his tracks. He heard her apologizing but he didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t need to hear it either, so he cut her off and left as quickly as he could.

That was the second time they met, and the second time he was rude to someone.

He could hear her removing her gloves angrily, he could feel the gloves hitting him lightly and then bouncing onto the floor. And even though he should be annoyed at that, he couldn’t help but feel a small laughter bubbling up.

Molly Hooper. Intrigues him.

And that alone is dangerous because caring is not an advantage and … sentiments are chemical defects found on the losing side.

And for Mycroft, any form of sentiment is not just dangerous.

It’s poison.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is satisfying because I am like omg right now. 
> 
> The story is moving far too slowly and I am just going to shake things up a bit and move the pace faster if I don't want people to start falling asleep on me ! 
> 
> As usual, comments are great motivators and I enjoy reading everyone's comments. 
> 
> People have been so kind to me and I work hard to write a better story than I have envisioned it to be.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t trust me.” Molly repeated as she walked towards him, her expression clearly showed her annoyance at being belittled yet again. Her fist clenched tightly. 
> 
> Sherlock looked on with a mild concern. He contemplated the possibility of Molly throwing her fist at Mycroft, which could be possible if he continued to be annoying. Sherlock can’t exactly say that he don’t wish for that to happen.
> 
> “And I don’t see why I should trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank Lu for her neverending patience with me as we talked through the details for this chapter and she helped me make it better with her inputs. Thank you everyone for your comments !

“Sir,”

The voice snapped him out of his trance and he turned to face his assistant who stood by the door. Her eyes met his before directing her gaze back to her blackberry, “Your brother and Dr. Hooper have arrived.”

Mycroft leaned back into his chair as he nodded to her, “Send them in.”

Anthea nodded and stepped away for a moment before returning with the two of them. She waited for Mycroft to give her the cue to leave before gently shutting the door behind her. The room was silent for a moment, unspoken tension was slowly filling the air as both Molly and Sherlock stood unnaturally in the room.

“I know what he wants to do.”

Sherlock finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse. Mycroft nodded at Sherlock’s statement, his face carefully blank.

“And?” Mycroft steepled his fingers under his chin as he leaned forward, staring intently at his brother.

“I need your help.” Sherlock admitted, albeit reluctantly. He looked away from his brother, taking a small step behind. Sherlock hated feeling weak, but most of all, he hated feeling weak and small in front of his brother who took every chance to remind him who is the smarter one, who is the stronger one.

Sherlock felt a small tug at his sleeve and when he looked down, he saw Molly’s fingers wrapped around his sleeve. She was clutching at it loosely and when she turned to him, she gave him a reassuring smile. “ _We can work this out, you don’t have to die._ ” She mouthed to him silently.

Sherlock felt a small smile tugging at his lips.

Molly doesn’t look like it, but he knows that she have the strength to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She has been a good friend to him, even when he wasn’t.

Mycroft cleared his throat as he watched their little exchange.

“What is it regarding?” Mycroft asked.

“Moriarty is planning to out me as a fraud, turn the newspaper against me, make me fall from grace and,” Sherlock stopped talking for a moment, pausing to swallow down the lump that formed in his throat, “die.”

Mycroft frowned, now concerned.  “How do you want me to help?” He asked, his fingers tapping against each other rhythmically.

“I need you to help me to fake my death.” Sherlock started as he paced around the room, rambling faster and faster.

“Molly would help to provide a body and fake my death papers, as well as offer me her place as a bolt hole before I decide my next move. I need to discuss with you the exact method of doing this,” Sherlock walked right to Mycroft’s desk, his hands firm on the edge of the table, towering over him as he continued, “and I need you to promise me to protect Molly when I am away.” Sherlock stared at his brother intensely, “Can you promise that?”

Mycroft looked at his brother in mild surprise.

“I clearly didn’t expect that,” He said, averting his gaze as he straightened out the creases on his suit. “I can do everything you ask of me,” Mycroft looked to Molly, “But -”

Molly cut in.

“You don’t trust me.” Molly continued the words he didn’t say, her eyes fixed on him. Mycroft stared back at her, tilting his chin slightly higher with his fingers steepled beneath. He was looking down at her with that all haughty look of his, a glacial smile on his face.

“You don’t trust me.” Molly repeated as she walked towards him, her expression clearly showed her annoyance at being belittled yet again. Her fist clenched tightly.  

Sherlock looked on with a mild concern. He contemplated the possibility of Molly throwing her fist at Mycroft, which could be possible if he continued to be annoying. Sherlock can’t exactly say that he don’t wish for that to happen.

“And I don’t see why I should trust you.”

Sherlock heard Mycroft replied nonchalantly, his eyebrows raised as he spoke.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock warned, his brows now tightly knitted together. He looked concernedly towards Molly.

Molly moved calmly towards Mycroft and she wrapped her fingers tightly around his collar. She stared intently into his eyes and spoke with all seriousness, “Sherlock is my friend and I would die to protect him. I would die or kill to keep him safe. If you forget what I do for a living, then let me remind you, I cut people up and I run tests to determine how they died. I know what kills people and how it kills them. And let me tell you, I will very gladly, use this knowledge of mine to protect my friends if need be.”

Molly spoke every word calmly, but Mycroft could tell that she was serious in her promise.  He was vaguely amused but he was careful to keep his face neutral.

Molly pulled him closer, their gaze locked, as she continued, her voice now lower and softer, she clearly meant for the remaining words to be heard only by him. And her words stung him in a way she didn’t mean to.

“You don’t trust me because you don’t believe that people are capable of doing that. You don’t trust me because you don’t trust anyone. You don’t trust me because you don’t have anyone whom you can turn your back to and not fear being stabbed in the back. For that, I pity you, but also, let me show you that my promise is not an empty one,” She said slowly, but clearly, in a matter-of-factly tone with just a hint of pity that hid beneath her words.

She had spoken simple words that together formed a lethal sentence.

Mycroft swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, her words hit too close to home. His jaw was tense as he stared at her, suddenly aware of their close proximity.

They were too close. So close that he would feel her breath on his skin, the smell of her shampoo wafting into his nostrils, so close. They were too close for comfort.

He swiftly tugged her hands away from his collar and gently pushed her backwards as he stood up. He adjusted his crumpled shirt as he moved away from her, putting in more distance between them.

“Talk is cheap, Dr. Hooper. You can say all you want to try to convince me, but the truth still remains. I don’t trust you. But I do think that the matter at hand is to formulate a plan and beat Moriarty at his game. Don’t you agree, Dr. Hooper?” He asked.   

Molly pondered over it for a while before finally sighing, “Then tell me, how do you need me to cooperate with you?”

“Very well. I will go over the details with Sherlock in private and when we are done, my assistant will inform you of your duties. After that,” Mycroft drummed his fingers on the oak table, “You will be escorted to another safe location.”

“So you can keep an eye on me?” Molly frowned. She didn't like the idea at all. 

“Hardly,” Mycroft smiled back at her, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. He walked towards her until they were only a few steps apart. He towered over her, invading her personal space in an attempt to intimidate her.

“Merely, for your protection.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn’t know if Molly ever regretted knowing him, but he never did and he would always be thankful that she was the pathologist that he chose.
> 
> And right now, this is the only thing he could offer her.
> 
> Protection and normalcy, a life without him breathing down her neck or causing her misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awfully sorry that I took THIS long to type up the chapter. I had a case of bad writer's block and I thank my beta Lu as well as the very awesome Wetislandinthenorthatlantic for going through the chapter with me. They gave me so much suggestions and ideas to work with. For that, I am eternally grateful to them. 
> 
> I had to rewrite this so many times and people who followed me on Tumblr would know that I am pretty much screaming at Molly and Mycroft everyday when I try so hard to write them. They were never right. LOL.
> 
> I thank everyone for your patience and kind comments, I have a lot to work on and I am really really happy that people are still patiently waiting for me. I will try to not make you guys wait too long for the next one ! Hopefully the words would finally flow now that I got this out of the way ! :D ! 
> 
> THANK YOU ! 
> 
> Comments are always greatly appreciated and so incredibly helpful !

Molly frowned at his words.

Mycroft watched her with predatory eyes, circling her in a leisurely manner and his footsteps heavy as they hit the wooden floor slowly.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the resounding of his footsteps, hollow as they echoed throughout the room, and molly’s controlled breathing. It was as if the world was still, except for them.

Molly simply stood still, her eyes following him. Her hands were clenched into fists by her side and Mycroft could see the sheer determination in her eyes to not be intimidated by him. Her eyes, they glittered in the light; Strong, fierce and unwavering.

They just stared at each other in complete silence until Molly broke the silence.

“What about my job?” She asked, her voice laced with concern. Her eyebrows arched as if questioning.

Mycroft’s eyebrows flicked upwards in surprise and a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he tapped his umbrella against the floor. Mycroft could hear the underlying defiance in her voice, even if it was subtle and carefully hidden.

He stopped right in his tracks, right before Molly Hooper. He had to admit that he was a little impressed with Molly Hooper. And a little amused.

Even at this point in time, even when they require his assistance, she still tries so hard to be responsible towards her job and not yield to his demands just because he demanded it of her.

“Dr Hooper, I am afraid you do not exactly understand your current predicament,” Mycroft smiled at her, with no sign of laughter in his eyes, “You, would be in danger the moment you choose to get involved in this messy affair and you require my protection when that happens because Moriarty’s people would be keeping a careful watch on **all** of Sherlock’s acquaintances. Therefore, you are in no position to bargain with me and will simply have to do as I require you to, _if you would prefer to keep your head intact_ ,” He said as he leaned forward, putting his face close to hers while he rested his weight on his umbrella.

Molly fought the urge to roll her eyes as her fists clenched tighter.

“Contrary to your beliefs, I am fully aware of the dangers of whatever I am going to do. But hear this, I am not trying to bargain with you. I am simply _trying_ to talk reason with you. I can’t leave my job like that. Dead bodies don’t autopsy themselves!” Molly uttered in exasperation.

“Talk reason?” Mycroft scoffed as he rolled his eyes, “How polite of you. If you even have any sense of reason, you would have simply accepted what I proposed.” Mycroft spat as his patience draw thin. The burning sensation at his wrist was making him uncomfortable to the point of hurting. He subtly rubbed at it, hoping to relieve some of the pain.

“You are insufferable!” Molly shouted at him.

The pain intensified. Mycroft frowned harder as he sighed softly, almost inaudible if one did not pay rapt attention.

“Insulting me would not help one bit at all, Dr. Hooper!” Mycroft raised his voice, impatient. He looked to his watch, another 10 minutes before the meeting with the Prime Minister. He sighed inwardly. He just wanted to get this over and done with. He tapped his umbrella impatiently.

Sherlock who remained silent throughout the entire heated argument took a step forward. He stood right next to Molly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mycroft,” He started wearily, “it would be suspicious for Molly to simply disappear like that for no rhyme or reason. You know that.”

Mycroft turned his back on his brother, his fingers fiddling with the things scattered on his table. “I know, but I don’t trust her. I don’t feel safe allowing a walking time bomb roam freely and threaten your life.” His words were slow and measured. Mycroft wanted to sigh. His brother expects too much of him.

Sherlock couldn’t help but snort.

“Mycroft, you have control over all the surveillance cameras in the whole of UK, keeping tabs on her would be as easy as _anything_. You don’t have to keep her indefinitely at **your** idea of a safe location until I come back. We know that it won’t be a short time to take down Moriarty’s web. That’s unfair to Molly Hooper.”  

Mycroft’s fingers stopped moving. He turned around slowly, his expression was one of slight amusement and bewilderment, “I am surprised that you care.” Mycroft’s eyebrows were slightly arched as he spoke. He nodded to himself, continuing, “But of course, keeping tabs on her would be easy, but protecting her, like you requested of me, is not going to be a walk in the park if she walks free on the streets. A hired assassin could easily take her out. You know that.”

Sherlock scowled in frustration. He knew that Molly would probably be safer if Mycroft kept her in an undisclosed location until he returned but that is highly unfair to her who didn’t have to be mixed up in this messy affair.

But he also knew that Molly, responsible and stubborn, would not just be able to just uproot herself and leave her job.

It’s also highly suspicious for her to disappear indefinitely. John, Mrs Hudson and even Lestrade would suspect her involvement, or even if they don’t, they would be worried.

Sherlock closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, his mind racing in circles.

“A month,” Sherlock spoke rapidly, his words frenzied, “Keep her at the safe location for a month, that’s more than enough time for you to arrange security for her, more than enough time to install surveillance in her place for you to keep a watch on her. A month, Mycroft, that’s more than what you need. A month later, you have to let Molly go back to her life. I am sure this is doable.” Sherlock stared straight at his brother. His eyes, silently pleading with his brother to just compromise for once.

Sherlock had never gone out of his way to be nice to Molly, and Molly never expected anything from him. Even when he was being rude to her, she still went out of her way to be nice to him.

Sherlock doesn’t know if Molly ever regretted knowing him, but he never did and he would always be thankful that she was the pathologist that he chose.

And right now, this is the only thing he could offer her.

Protection and normalcy, a life without him breathing down her neck or causing her misery.  


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock watched her leave and he felt himself relax momentarily when the door finally closed behind her, shutting out her worried face.
> 
> He wanted Molly to be here actually. Desperately so. Molly’s presence calms him even as his world was thrown into chaos, having figured out what was Moriarty’s final plans for him. Her presence helped to ease him back into his logical mode whereby he was able to block out the myriad of emotions he was feeling and try to come up with some kind of a plan to cheat his inevitable death.
> 
> He wanted Molly to listen on, to discuss the plans. But Sherlock knew.
> 
> The lesser she knew, the safer she would be. It’s hard to pretend to not know something and he knows his pathologist well. She could keep a secret, bring it to the grave even, but she could hardly lie to save her life. Though he had to admit that she’s a better liar than John. So no. He had to let her leave, despite knowing the fact that both of them wished that she could be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I've kept you guys waiting. Packing my luggage for uni is really a whole load of work and I am glad that everything fitted nicely in my luggage without going over the weight limit, thank my stars.
> 
> The progress of the story is a little slow I admit but I will try to shake things up. I don't know how you guys would like this chapter really. But I think the next few chapters MIGHT come out a bit faster now that the luggage's all packed and stuff. If you guys want to know what's my writing progress like, you can find me on http://stabbed-withafork.tumblr.com
> 
> To track my writing progress only, you can go to http://stabbed-withafork.tumblr.com/tagged/writing

Mycroft fought to suppress the resigned sigh that almost escaped his lips. As much as he wish to throttle his insufferable brother for making his work more difficult than it had to be, he knew he can’t. It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, but he cares for his brother – _dearly_.

Even if his brother refuses to cooperate and has a knack for getting himself into all sorts of trouble.

His gaze flickered over to the _seemingly_ harmless pathologist that had once again surprised, or rather, shocked him with a side that he had not expected. She stood there rigidly by Sherlock’s side, her jaws set and tension radiated off every inch of her.

Her fingers were curled tightly into a fist and Mycroft was rather sure that it must be rather painful with her fingernails pressed tightly into the flesh of her palm.

And if it did hurt badly, Molly Hooper had either not felt it or she was careful to not let it show on her face. She held his gaze when she noticed him looking at her. When she realized that, her anxious and tense expression gave way to one that’s challenging and defiant. Her eyes lit up, like a flame burning bright in the night. Molly inclined her head slightly, her chin held high as she stared straight back at him.

Mycroft had to suppress the smirk that threatened to show on his face when he looked at her. _Interesting,_ He thought as he felt a soft, soothing warmth around his wrist. He frowned when he realised what was happening and it forced him to turn his head away from her.

 “Consider it done,  _brother mine_.” He said, his fingers once again tapping on the tabletop. “Anthea,” He called out to his assistant, and within moments, Anthea appeared by the door with her blackberry in hand.

“Sir?” She enquired, her eyes securitizing their faces, her eyes lingering on Molly Hooper a little longer.

“Lead Dr. Hooper out, my brother and I have got some plans to make.” Mycroft said sternly.

Molly’s head jerked towards Sherlock, her hands instinctively held onto his sleeve.

“Sherlock?” She questioned, her words thick with worry and her eyebrows were furrowed together. She wished that she could stay in and hear their discussion. Not knowing anything about a plan this huge and with such great risks put her at unease.

Sherlock’s eyes fell on her. Molly thought he would request for her presence as well, but he simply shook his head. 

 _No_ , he mouthed.

The discussion is to be private. Molly felt her heart sink a little. Just a little.

Molly didn’t know if she should feel worried or upset that even though he had requested for her help in his plan to cheat death, he hadn’t place enough faith and trust in her like she thought. It was a little … disappointing and hurting.

But Molly didn’t just accept that. She wants to be in the know. She wants to be able to help him.

She looked up at Sherlock with wide, brown eyes that pleaded with him silently, _let me help you, please_. The corners of Sherlock’s mouth tugged downwards at the sight. But still, he shook his head.  

Mycroft diverted his gaze to Anthea and gave a small nod in her direction. Anthea got the message and instantly took a step forward and rested her hand on Molly’s elbow, giving her a tug in her attempt to lead her out of the room. “Dr. Hooper, please.”

Molly refused to budge, her fingers curled even tighter around Sherlock’s sleeves at that.

Anthea looked towards her boss. Mycroft groaned internally, waving a hand at her to indicate that he would handle the situation now.   

“Dr. Hooper,” He addressed her, his voice laced with tiredness and a slight tinge of annoyance, “You appear to have a knack for complicating things and making things increasingly difficult for people. You have already wasted enough time,  _precious time_  that could be put to good use and save people’s lives. If you  _truly, truly_ mean Sherlock well, then please just follow Anthea out so Sherlock and I could discuss our plans.” He sneered.

Molly’s eyes narrowed at him briefly before turning towards Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded his head at her this time. _Go_. He signalled with a look.

She bit her lips and roughly shook off Anthea’s hand before walking towards the door. She pushed open the door and walked through it, looking concernedly over her shoulder every few steps she took. She only continued on when Sherlock gave her another slight nod of his head.

He watched her leave rather reluctantly and he felt himself relax momentarily when the door finally closed behind her, shutting out her worried face.

He wanted Molly to be here actually. Desperately so. Molly’s presence calms him even as his world was thrown into chaos, having figured out what was Moriarty’s final plans for him. Her presence helped to ease him back into his logical mode whereby he was able to block out the myriad of emotions he was feeling and try to come up with some kind of a plan to cheat his inevitable death.

He wanted Molly to listen on, to discuss the plans. But Sherlock knew.

The lesser she knew, the safer she would be. It’s hard to pretend to not know something and he knows his pathologist well. She could keep a secret, bring it to the grave even, but she could hardly lie to save her life. Though he had to admit that she’s a better liar than John. But still, no.

He had to let her leave, despite knowing the fact that both of them wished that she could be here.

Sherlock walked over to the couch in Mycroft’s office and collapsed onto it with his face in his hands.

Mycroft strutted over, he hesitated as his hand settled on his brother’s shoulder.

“I believe, there’s something important that we have to do now.” He said, feeling a little uncomfortable at having displayed some form of brotherly affection.

Sherlock removed his face from his hands and looked up at Mycroft. What Mycroft saw in his eyes broke his heart and something akin to fear shot through his heart.

 _Fear, vulnerability and uncertainty_ , Mycroft recognized those emotions. Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat, he recognized this expression of Sherlock, for he had seen it twice.

When Redbeard died.

When he overdosed on the floor and was lying in a heap in a dark alley, his body seizing and him almost choking on his vomit.  

This is the third time that Mycroft’s seeing this expression.

And he wished that he didn’t have to see it again.

Sherlock pressed his lips tightly together as he regarded his brother. He held out a file that lay hidden in his coat. “I…” Sherlock frowned, “Think that’s what he’s going to do. Everything, every lead and clue, is in there. And also, how I am going to fake my death.” Sherlock gestured, his head tilting up slightly to point to the file.

“I cannot do this on my own.” Sherlock averted his gaze, his voice barely a whisper.

Mycroft stared down at the file held in Sherlock’s outstretched hand, noting the slight tremor in his hand. Mycroft reached out to grab the file, gently pulling it out of Sherlock’s grip.

Mycroft flipped through the file under the anxious eyes of Sherlock. He went through the information quickly, briefly noting in his head what are their other options, the probabilities of failing, where would Dr Hooper fit in etc. There was a vast amount of information to go through and even more details to see to. After some long minutes, Mycroft finally shut the files and placed them on his desk. 

Sherlock heard the sound of the file being put down and looked up at his brother, “What do you think?” He swallowed, but the persistent lump at his throat made it hard for him to vocalize his feelings. It took him a long while before he truthfully admitted his feelings, “I don’t want to die.”

If Mycroft was surprised by his brother’s confession, he did not show it. Mycroft simply tapped the file once before turning to look at his brother. “Your plan,” He paused, his brows furrowed together for a moment before he spoke slowly, “Seems to work but I need you to explain some things here.” He said as he flipped to one of the pages and double tapped one portion that Sherlock had scribbled on.

With that, Sherlock stood up on his feet and looked down at it. He rapidly explained that portion with Mycroft asking even more questions and throwing more ideas at Sherlock. Both pondered over the plans, made new plans, scraped some, argued endlessly and scribbled furiously.

It was a long, heated discussion, with Mycroft and Sherlock snarling at each other for some quick moments before regaining their composure and continued their discussion.

After what felt like an eternity to both of them, they finally had what felt like a concrete plan, or at least one that held the lowest risk of failing and a few more contingency plans.

Sherlock slumped back onto the chair, exhaustedly rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Consider it done now, you can rest easy while my agents and I finalize the plans and put things into gear.” Mycroft spoke, his tone softer and kinder than he meant to.

Sherlock’s hand stopped mid-action at that statement, his head spun to look at his brother with an expression that was a mix of relief and discomfort, clearly unnerved by the sudden softness shown to him.  But Sherlock didn't say anything more and merely nodded his head. 

Mycroft looked to the door and gestured for him to leave with a wave of his hand as he begun to busy himself and called the agents in.

Sherlock got the message and stood up slowly to make his exit. His footsteps were heavy as he walked towards the door.

When he finally reached the door with his hand on the cold metal handle, he turned his head slightly, “Thank you.”

Mycroft didn’t acknowledge the words, though Sherlock thought he saw a hint of a tired smile on his brother’s face.

He only said, “You should find Dr. Hooper two doors down the corridor. I’ll keep you updated, but for now, just get some sleep.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea’s grin dropped and it was replaced by the very familiar smirk that seems to always hang on her face. “I only asked, because...” She drawled, pausing for suspense and Molly rolled her eyes. Anthea shrugged her shoulders as she continued, “A certain Mr Holmes just wanted me to ensure that you are being comfortable and taken care of while waiting.”
> 
> Molly’s eyes widened in surprise at the news, then she scoffed, “What a surprise, should I take it at face value and just think that he is concerned, or should I start to fear that he is planning something now?”
> 
> Anthea’s smirk disappeared entirely, all forms of playfulness gone and her relaxed demeanour was instantly replaced by her usual aloof mannerisms. She stared hard at Molly, her arms no longer crossed in front of her chest, but by her sides.

The door clicked shut, and Mycroft heard Sherlock’s hesitant footsteps slowly regained confidence as he strode down the hallway. When it finally all became quiet, it was only then that Mycroft allowed himself to relax and slowly massage away the knot that had settled in both his trapezius as he slumped into his chair.

He was sure that if his parents were here, they would be shocked (or delightfully surprised) that their eldest son, who prides himself on his impeccable manners and being prim and proper all the time, would finally, for once, lose his rod-straight posture and assume a position that he had always frowned upon.

Mycroft’s gaze flitted to the file that laid on his desk with his lips tightly pressed together. _This is not the time to be relaxed_ , he thought, as he squared back his shoulders and sat upright, and dialled Anthea’s number.

The line rang once, before it was connected. His assistant was prompt, as usual.

“Sir?”

“Call in the agent B and D, there is quite a lot of preparation work to do.” He flicked through the file, making mental notes of the important things to set right and discuss with his agents.

“I will see to it straightaway,” Anthea replied, and he could already hear her texting rapidly on her other phone. It brought a small smile to his face. He could always rely on the competence of his assistant and this seems to be the only thing going right for him right now. Everything else seems to be in a mess especially … after finding out that Molly is his soulmate, the one that it was counting down to, before all the counter business became a fiasco.

“Thank you.” He said while thinking about that pathologist, how she had reacted, the fierce loyalty and the protection she felt towards Sherlock, and everything that she is. He didn't think that she had that much strength in her, to stand up and challenge him, and in turn, make him trust her a little more with this. Mycroft laughed to himself when he realized that he had underestimated her yet again, but she again impressed him and draw him towards her. But he also knew, he was everything she would never want, and everything that she is, he could never have. 

The silence on the phone drew out longer than Mycroft had meant to and Anthea took it as a cue to disconnect and get back to work.

With that realisation, Anthea was right about to disconnect the call when Mycroft’s voice suddenly rang out from the other side of the line.

“Wait.” He said, voice a bit louder than before.

Anthea’s finger paused, and she swiftly brought the phone back to her ear.

“….” Mycroft was silent for a moment, very strange indeed as he usually hate to waste precious time like this, but Anthea knew not to comment and just patiently wait for him to relay his instructions.

A moment later, he finally spoke.

“Make sure that Dr. Hooper is comfortable.” Anthea smiled a little to herself, more than slightly amused that her employer sounded relatively uncomfortable when he said that.

“Yes, Sir. Is that all?” Mycroft scowled at the amused tone in Anthea’s voice. He could only imagine all the things going through her head right now.

“Yes,” He clipped, and he disconnected the call instantly. He was sure that Anthea would just take the opportunity to tease him or do something of the sorts if he stayed on the line. Right now, there’s more important things to do than to waste time for idle chit chat.

 

* * *

 

Molly was pacing around the room restlessly when she heard Anthea’s phone rang. She whipped her head quickly and stared at Anthea, who only spared her a glance before focusing on the call. Anthea’s voice was soft and even in the small room, Molly could barely make out her words. She strained to hear the conversation, but the warm, fuzzy sensation on her wrist was more than a little distracting and before she know it, the call had ended as abruptly as it came.

Molly does not know what to make of this situation. She doesn’t know if it is more disturbing that Sherlock and Mycroft have been busy plotting away for hours away and she has no knowledge of what’s going on or …. The surprisingly creepy smile on Anthea face right now. She looks more than just satisfied, she looks just like a cat that got the cream. And that, to Molly, is rather disturbing.

In the few, brief encounters that they had, Anthea had always been a little snarky, very collected and calm, the smiles on her face are far and few between. Even then, her smiles are very calculated, never breaking into a grin. But now …. With that big of a smile on her face, it’s rather fitting to say that Anthea is _grinning_.

Molly slowly inched away from Anthea as she turned her attention to Molly.

“Dr. Hooper,” She addressed, with the grin still on her face. Molly nodded at Anthea hesitantly and eyed her warily as she slowly stepped away from her.

Anthea noticed her actions and did not comment on that, merely scoffing at Molly’s silliness mentally. “Sherlock would be here with you briefly and that it would still be awhile before you would be briefed on your involvement and plans after. Would you,” She paused, her eyebrows raised, “like some tea?” Anthea asked, and Molly could detect some form of amusement underlying that ‘formal’ tone that she was using.

Molly frowned.

It feels like there’s something that Anthea is keeping from her but it is definitely entertaining Anthea. Molly doesn’t like this feeling at all; she feels like a mouse that is being trapped by a cat and being played with.

“No, thank you. Though I am surprised that you only remembered to ask after so many hours.” Molly remarked.

Anthea’s grin dropped and it was replaced by the very familiar smirk that seems to always hang on her face. “I only asked, because...” She drawled, pausing for suspense and Molly rolled her eyes. Anthea shrugged her shoulders as she continued, “A certain Mr Holmes just wanted me to ensure that you are being comfortable and taken care of while waiting.”

Molly’s eyes widened in surprise at the news, then she scoffed, “What a surprise, should I take it at face value and just think that he is concerned, or should I start to fear that he is planning something now?”

Anthea’s smirk disappeared entirely, all forms of playfulness gone and her relaxed demeanour was instantly replaced by her usual aloof mannerisms. She stared hard at Molly, her arms no longer crossed in front of her chest, but by her sides.

“Sherlock is Mr Holmes’ brother and he only wanted to ensure the safety of his brother, even if it’s at the expense of belittling you and your trustworthiness. Don’t assume to know everything when you don’t. He might have offended you before, but you two are not that different when it comes to Sherlock.” She defended him fiercely, and Molly could only gape at Anthea as she tried to find the words and her voice.

Anthea’s words made sense, how could Mycroft Holmes trust the life of his brother in her hands? She was merely a pathologist that had worked with Sherlock for a reasonably long time, how could he have known just exactly how trustworthy was she, how could he have known that this secret would lie safe in her hands?

It was only now that she recalled that a long time ago, Sherlock may have just told her in passing, in jest, that his brother was the British government, or at least held that much power. She didn’t think much of it then, thought that it was Sherlock trying to fool about as usual. But it all made sense now.

For a man who is a keeper of secrets, he knows the danger of untrustworthy aides and disloyal soldiers. No one keeps a secret better than a dead person. Or someone who is not privy to it.

He was merely a concerned brother, just as she is just a concerned friend, if that was what she could label herself as. She shouldn’t have been offended, or at least, her anger towards him was unwarranted.

Upon that realisation, Molly bit her lips and was just about to apologise when the oaken door suddenly creaked open and Sherlock stood there in the doorway, the light illuminating the dim room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I AM SO SORRY.  
> I think it's about 2 months from my last update. I edited quite a big portion of the previous chapter to make it better and so ... it would be better if you pop over to chapter 12 and give it another read and then read this. It would make more sense and yeap. 
> 
> Secondly, I have been busy with school now that I am in university and there's lot of coursework and revision, exams are coming, just as christmas is coming. It was a nightmare trying to get this chapter done. It's by far the one that I spent the most time on. I think there's probably 10 drafts of this chapter, with different angles. I tried to write from Sherlock's POV, where he felt sorry that he is causing so many people grief, I tried to write from Molly's POV where she was anxiously pacing the room while being kept in the dark. I tried to write so many different versions of their view, but it just didn't work. So I tried from Mycroft's view. Which was very interesting to write. NOW IT'S FINALLY DONE. I CAN CRY. I can't promise how soon the next chapter would be since I'm doing a fair bit of travelling inbetween my coursework deadlines, but I will try to do it ASAP. 
> 
> If you wish to find out what's the current status of the next chapter, you can track me on tumblr ! Http://stabbed-withafork.tumblr.com/tagged/writing
> 
> Lastly, I appreciate all your subscriptions, comments and kudos ! Please keep them coming in ! Love you guys and see you next update !


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sherlock doesn’t know,” He whispered as he lifted his eyes to meet Anthea’s, “He doesn’t know that his life is in jeopardy because of me. If I can’t save him….” His voice trailing off, almost cracking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have forgotten, Mycroft sold Sherlock out to Moriarty to try to nab Moriarty but in turn, led to his brother's kind of tricky situation.

“Sherlock!” Molly cried out and strode towards him when she saw the familiar figure standing at the door. Her hands came to rest lightly on his arms as her eyes scanned his face worriedly.

“Is it all settled, what do you need me to do? What else do I need to know? Is it-” Her rambling was effectively stopped midway when Sherlock forcefully placed his hand over her mouth. His face lit by a weary smile as he said, “You talk too much.”

Molly frowned in disapproval, trying to protest to no avail as it all came out as mindless, senseless noises. The corner of Sherlock’s lips quirked upwards as he slowly waited for her to stop before he lifted his hand from her mouth.

“It’s all taken care of by Mycroft and his people right now.” Sherlock said as nonchalantly as he could while slowly making his way towards the black velvet chaise lounge by the wall. Molly eyed him worriedly as she noticed the tense set of his shoulders, the worry lines in his forehead while he slipped on his mask.

Sherlock crashed onto the lounge in an elegant manner, slowly curling up into a ball while on his sides. He laid facing the wall, away from her. Molly gingerly made her way towards him and settled on the matching armchair beside him. She glanced towards Sherlock and stared down at her hand. “Are you…. Okay?” She asked, but there was no answer. She chided herself internally when she realized what a stupid question that was.

 _Of course he wasn’t okay !_ He’s human, he aches, he bleeds. If whatever that transpired tonight wasn’t a proof that while Sherlock can often be a right ass, he also have a heart that aches and bleeds when hurt, then she don’t know how else his humanity could be proved.

The moment stretched on longer than she had expected when she heard an almost-inaudible sigh escaped his lips. “If I don’t come back from this…” His voice catches and Molly tensed, not knowing what would be the appropriate thing to do in this situation. She stiffly and hesitantly reached out her hand and gently patted his head.

“You will.” She said with false confidence, much more confident than she felt. If Sherlock knew she was lying, he didn’t say anything. Maybe, at this point in him, he needed this more than they expected. He just went along with it and gently nodded his head while Molly continued to pat him on the head, as she would with a child. She looked up to Anthea and made a gesture with her free hand, her sleeve slipping down.  

Understanding that there’s no further need for her to be here any longer, Anthea took a long, meaningful look at Molly before slowly retreating out of the room to report to Mycroft.

 _Things could get interesting_. Anthea thought to herself as she shut the door, her eyes falling onto the uncovered wrist of Molly Hooper.  

* * *

 

“Sir,” Anthea said as she strutted into the study with her eyes still glued to the device in her hands, “Dr. Hooper is with your brother right now and Agent C and E are on their way here, would arrive in seven. Your meetings have been cancelled and scheduled for later. I believe there should be some news regarding Moriarty on Agent A’s side as well, should reach your inbox in about five. And I believe that’s all for the moment.”

She looked up and was faced with a pensive Mycroft. Mycroft is always deep in thoughts when it comes to formulating plans and strategies but this was a different sort. The usual Mycroft is usually focused, his eyes sharp and alert even when he was merely staring at a spot on the paper. You could see the concentration and calculation in his eyes. But now, Mycroft was miles away in his head, his eyes glazed over and he did not seem to have heard a word Anthea said.

Anthea moved to stand beside him and snapped her fingers in front of his face, jotting him from his thoughts.

Having snapped out of his daze, he silently pushed her hand away from his face, “Updates?” He asked tiredly as he rubbed his face with his hands.  

“I was saying…” Anthea sighed inwardly as she repeated everything again, this time, making sure that he was paying attention to every word she said.

When she was done repeating, she looked up from her phone and glanced towards Mycroft, who was listening intently with a penitent expression on his face.

 “Sherlock doesn’t know,” He whispered as he lifted his eyes to meet Anthea’s, “He doesn’t know that his life is in jeopardy because of me. If I can’t save him….” His voice trailing off, almost cracking.

This was not the Iceman that people speak fearfully of.

This was not the ruthless politician who could easily make one or two rivals disappear off the face of Earth if they threaten the safety of the country.

This was Mycroft Holmes, a man who did his brother wrong by selling him out. A man who overestimated himself and underestimated his opponent, allowing his opponent a window of opportunity to destroy his brother.

And this is the one and only chance to right his wrong, and even then, he cannot say how much better this would be, if it even succeed at all.

He rested his face in his hands, his earlier façade slipping away and the feelings he kept compartmentalized at the back of his head came flooding back. The guilt the shame overwhelmed him but he kept his face hidden. He could hide it from his brother, pretended that he knew nothing, for he was the master of pretenses. But it did not mean that it did not gnaw away at his conscience, if he even had one.

Anthea stood there, merely watching him. She could offer him no comfort or forgiveness, which is not in her place to give in any case, and certainly not what he needed from her at the moment. No words or gestures from her could alleviate the guilt and pain he is undergoing at the moment. The only thing that mattered now was to get Sherlock to safety, hopefully in one piece.

She waited till he composed himself, waited till he managed to push all those pesky emotions away, waited till he lifted his face from his palms and waited till the Iceman was once again staring at her with those piercing, calculating eyes.

She felt her phone vibrated, and glanced down at it.

“The meeting room is prepared and Agent C and E are waiting in there. The news from Agent A have been printed out and are available for discussion in the room as well. I believe that there is somewhere you have to be right now.” Anthea informed him. Her hands were aching to lay on his shoulders and give him some support for all the tough decisions and tedious plans he would need to plan. But she knew it would be unappreciated and unhelpful, for Mycroft truly hated people to touch him, be it accidentally or with playful intentions.

Anthea clenched and unclenched her fist as she watched Mycroft stood up from his seat and gathered his coat as he gestured for her to follow him. There was no signs of his earlier emotional outbreak, his vulnerability. She sighed inwardly as she watched him strut onwards, his umbrella tapping the floor as he walked along.

Sometimes, she wish that he wasn’t so stoical, wasn't so guarded and would just let his weaknesses show. Maybe then, he could actually seem likable (which he could be) to whoever he should be with, which she already got an inkling of who it could be. If only, he would allow him to be vulnerable a second time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rubbish at this. Time seems to fly past so quickly ! I was going to, hoping to actually, post something for Christmas but ... time slipped away and I had to prepare for my exams and I thought that when exams are over, then I could happily do some writing. But it was a crazy race to actually finish up my coursework .... So, I ended up only managing to finish this now. This draft was laying on my desktop for a good few months before I actually managed to finish it. I hope it actually made sense... 
> 
> Thanks for staying with me ! The kudos and comments really do fuel me ! 
> 
> And, to me, I have always thought that Anthea and Mycroft were always a rather matching pair in terms of intellect etc but Molly would always fit Mycroft better than Anthea could because of a lot of reasons that I hope that I could show in future. I guess in this story, Anthea is kind of like a protective sister, even though, Mycroft is older than her.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PodFic] Counting Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566019) by [WinterKoala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterKoala/pseuds/WinterKoala)




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